


Red on Red

by KestrelShrike



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Nihlus Lives, Shower Sex, Smut, Turian, shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: Inspired by this gorgeous piece of art [http://relay314.tumblr.com/post/164685739126/last-but-not-least-one-spectre-agent-in-the by relay314 I present some shameless Nihlus and Shepard shower antics.





	Red on Red

Elevation to Commander and she still had to share a shower with every person on the Normandy. Shepard had already tried to get in there this morning, finding every stall locked and occupied, sending her back to the safety of her cabin with a grumble, the steaming cup of something that was not quite coffee not doing much to improve her mood. There were bits of vorcha entangled in her red hair, not improving her mood. Time to check again. 

Wrapping a towel firmly around her body and glaring at any crew members that dared to raise even a single suggestive eyebrow at the sight of their superior wearing almost nothing at all, she marched to the showers, leaving the privacy and safety of her own quarters for steam and noise. 

In the closest stall, someone was singing a pop song, just off-key enough to be grating. The middle stall was silent, save for the sound of running water, but also resoundingly locked. That left only the last one, furthest from the door. It was impossible to tell whether or not the sound of gently falling drops came from this one or another one, but when Shepard pushed hesitantly on the door, it gave way slightly. Not locked. Good. Relief at even the prospect of hot water spread throughout her shoulders, causing her to relax. 

The first part of the shower was a small room where she could drop the towel, take her hair out, feeling it hit her shoulders. It was getting long, far past regulation, and it would need a trim. Hidden as it was in her customary bun, she could put it off for just a bit longer. Shower gel, shampoo, conditioner, check. They were all standard Alliance goods, utilitarian and unisex, with the exception of a small, precious bottle of something fruity and tropical that you were meant to rub into your skin to make it soft. Or something. Shepard wasn’t really sure, but she treasured it, pulling it out only when she really needed it. 

More than eager to actually stand underneath the shower head, Shepard shoved aside the thin curtain that separated her from her goal, eyes half-closed in anticipation, taking a step into the stall, not realizing it was already occupied. Her mistake became obvious mere seconds later, when a shape materialized out of the steam and mist, red and tall, back to her. Nihlus Kryik, her mentor, completely nude. 

She should have looked away, but Shepard found herself drinking it in. She justified herself in this way: Nihlus wasn’t technically her mentor any longer. After he’d been shot by Saren, he’d become semi-retired, choosing to stick with the Normandy and provide advice in a strictly friendly way, curious to see how the first human Spectre would fair. Supposedly. That made it okay to look, didn’t it? It wasn’t as if she had been wondering what he looked like under the armor, and if she had, it was just curiosity about turian anatomy, or so she told herself. 

When Nihlus turned his head slightly, Shepard could see the scars radiating outward. It should have been a fatal shot, but it hadn’t been, through sheer luck and her own pressure on the wound, keeping him alive. Everything afterward had been difficult and continued to be so- she could see how he favored one side of his body over the other, even in the shower, and physical therapy was an ongoing process. The rest of him was whole and hearty though, and beautiful. Handsome? Both words didn’t seem sufficient to describe the interplay of black and red on his carapace, the way it faded to buff at the extremities. His musculature was more defined than she had imagined, though none of him looked vulnerable or soft. 

Right. Time to stop staring. Trying to pretend that she had just arrived, Shepard dropped the curtain, exclaiming, “Shit, sorry! I didn’t realize you were in here.” It almost sounded true, though her acting left a great deal to be desired. 

Shielding his arm against the drops, Nihlus peered out at her, not bothering to cover, modesty apparently not a turian ideal. “Shepard. You’re a terrible liar, as always.” The faintest hint of a smile flickered on the edge of his mandibles, and he still didn’t move forward to cover himself at all. “Do you like what you see?” 

Her heart lay in her throat. Nihlus was a friend, of sorts, but there was also that undercurrent that ran between them, shared glances and a life saved. He was one of the few in the Milky Way that believed her visions in the Prothean beacon, and he had been there to guide her. “I… I have to say that I do, Spectre Nihlus.” Her voice came out throaty, husky on the last two words, using his title as a term of endearment.

The singing from the other stall stopped abruptly, both other streams of water turning off. “We’ll leave you alone, Commander,” came ringing from behind the door, laughter accompanying it. It was lucky the heat had already turned her face pink, though Shepard was sure by now that her face was beet red, matching her hair nicely. 

“Spectre Shepard. Join me.” Hand extended, Nihlus gently pulled Shepard to him, unwrapping her towel so that it fell to the floor, getting soggy, quickly kicked aside. 

“Isn’t this a breach of ethics?” Military training was too ingrained in her to throw it off so quickly. 

“If I was still actively your mentor, yes. Fortunately, I’ve retired from that position.” Debatable, really, but Nihlus had put his mouth to her neck, nibbling gently. “I like the vorcha,” he said, pulling a clump from her and chuckling, reaching over her shoulder to her toiletries. 

He pulled the smallest bottle out, Shepard’s special wash. The scent of passion flower lay heavy in the air, every ounce of steam seeming to carry it so that she was sure they could smell it even outside the bathroom. “That’s not-” she began, but he had applied it to her scalp, massaging downward, fingers teasing her neck and collarbone, resting on her breasts. 

“Yes?” Nihlus paused in his actions, and Shepard shook her head. 

“Nothing.” It suddenly didn’t seem to matter as much, not when he was touching her nipples lightly, flicking his tongue downward. “Please. Don’t stop.”   
Those same defined muscles were put to good work as Nihlus took himself away from Shepard’s hair, gently lifting her and leaning her against the cool tile wall, contrast between water as hot as it would go and carefully engineered material designed to stay cold sending pleasant shivers down her spine. “Some would say the vorcha give a pleasant musk,” he whispered in her ear, parting her legs and entering her surprisingly gently. “Not too hard?” 

She shook her head, suddenly unable to speak save for tiny gasps. No, no, this was perfect, red hair and pale skin against red carapace and white clan markings. They worked well in the field together, moving as a single unit, something born of long hours of practice. That same discipline, the ability to understand what the other was doing on the battlefield even before they moved, served them well here, Shepard adapting to the rhythm of Nihlus’ thrusts, legs grasped tight around his waist, fingers digging in as hard as she could. 

Acutely aware that her crew could be listening just outside the unlocked door, Shepard tried to keep herself quiet, alternating between finding the tender space on Nihlus’ neck and biting and the smallest of noises to let him know he could continue. Her back would be bruised; they had picked up the pace, hitting the wall again and again, a dull, satisfying thud that was rhythmic and even. He seemed to appreciate the biting as much as she did, perhaps more; at one point, Shepard clamped down hard enough to draw specks of blue, so vivid against all the red. 

Together, they marked targets, and together they came, ragged breaths filled with steam and that rich, almost overbearing tropical scent. Letting her down gently, Nihlus pulled Shepard close to him one last time. “I’m glad you’re a shitty liar, Shepard. You won’t be starring in the crew play any time soon though.” 

“All my dreams of being the lead.” Her breath was still coming back to her, tone ragged, but she felt more herself, so much better than she had in weeks. Months, maybe, since taking control of the Normandy. 

“Before we go our separate ways, Nihlus, let me show you which one the shampoo is.” Always an opportunity to learn more. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Shepard.” Mentor. Friend. Lover.


End file.
